The Rebirth
by Sara Darkotter
Summary: Long ago, the world of Redwall fell into cruelty and ruin. But then came it's creator make it all right. And it all starts with a slave maiden in the south..
1. Book 1: The Slave

Ok, so this is based around my tribute to Brian Jacques. This probably won't make much sense without reading it.

If, at any point while reading you think this is not worth reading and decide to press the back button, could you take the time to scroll down and tell me why it's so bad? I'd like to improve.

* * *

_I'm not sure how to start this. My master says to start strong, but I'm not sure how. I can't fall back on "Once upon a time", like I do with the tales I tell our dibbuns, because it's real, as strange as it is. _

_I can't jump into the action, because we would lose too much of the tale. _

_I'm barely sure of who to meet first! There's so many beasts who played a part-even me!_

_I can't write something this big._

_But I must do this, to show I can be the recorder. What good would it be, to keep around all these scraps with beast's tales on them? They could be so easily lost or burned-oops! I knocked over a stack of them! The mess!_

_There. All cleaned up, and none are dirtied._

_My master is laughing in his chair by the fire. My clumsily attempts to clean up quietly failed, it seemed._

_No wait. It's about my complaints._

_**It's simple, Melly. Start where it begins. The rest will follow.**_

*...*

The sun looked down on the wild forest of Mossflower. If you had seen it, long ago, you wouldn't have recognized it now. Trees had come and gone, an ancient oak to the north disappeared in a long ago storm, the rivers wearing new courses.

But the biggest change would be the abbey.

Once the Abbey of Redwall had stood tall and proud, towering over all like a mountain. The red stone had gleamed and changed with seasons, the belltower ringing out a message of sanctuary. But no more.

Now the abbey was gone. The walls had crumbled, the doors rotted away, being only wood. The main building was leaning, falling, stones slowly joining their companions on the ground. The gardens and orchard, once so carefully tended and culled, had run wild among the willows that had once marked graves. The clear scent of herbs mixed with the wild sweetness of flowers and fruits and the earthy scents of willows. Along a wall, a huge rosebush leaned and climbed. The legendary Laterose. Once known for its beautiful flowers, now it had faded to dormancy so long, it appeared dead.

Inside was scarcely better. The windows were gone, gaping eyes in the walls, pieces of glass from windows shattered by storms scattered across floors, still with a sharp edge for the unsuspecting paw. The tapestry was frayed and faded and torn, disintegrating. Dormitories and rooms were full of molded, ancient bedding and strange heirlooms. The very spirit of a place abandoned.

In the cellar, there was a mouse.

He was by no means young. His fur had hints of gray, his clothes, a vest and white shirt, were stained slightly by travel, and a cap perched upon an ear that had been nicked by one thing or another.

"See this, Teddy? Elderberry wine, by these marks here. Just a light taste, to see the age..." He tapped a tiny amount into a beaker before tasting. "Strong! Even an infirmary couldn't use this. There's a good hundred seasons to this 'un's name."

"Really, Brian? But this place has been abandoned longer."

"Never underestimate a woodlander looking for a home."

"Somebeast lived here the-" Teddy, little white muzzle in the air, walked farther along the dark cellar. "Brian! I found a lantern!"

"Good!" Brian considered that it must have been a hedgehog or mole that would live down here.

"I'm lighting it, Brian!"

"Ok then, Teddy." Or maybe an otter. It would resemble a holt...

"Hey Brian!" Teddy's voice echoed from farther down. "I found our beast!"

"Hedgehog or mole, then?"

"I think itsa mole, can't tell though! All that's left are bones!"

Brian walked the small patch of dark tunnel, to where Teddy stood next to a skeleton.

It was indeed a mole, and had died in it's sleep, from the way it lay so peacefully.

Brian sighed gently. "A true cellarmole. Look round, Teddy."

A forge, neat and tidy, still waiting to be used. Barrels and casks, with designs half-worked in their wood. A bowl that had contained a small fruit harvest, now with a tiny withered bush sprouting from it.

"Can't just leave him here, Brian."

"Indeed, we cannot!" Taking the lantern from Teddy, he set it on the ground, beginning the arduous tasking of removing paving stones. Using chisels, the two but carefully into the seams between stones. They were rewarded for this work when the stones lifted out whole.

"Now we to start digging."

Teddy did this job, him being part dog made it an easy task. Brian hunted for something with a name, or at least some neater cloth to bury him in.

In doing so, he discovered a dress.

"We were wrong about one thing, Teddy! This mole is female!"

Carefully setting it down-it was in amazing condition, he kept looking.

Tucked on a shelf populated by cobwebs, there was a sheet of sailcloth. "Well aren't you a lucky find."

He took it back to Teddy, who had finished. Together, they slid it under the mole, wrapped it gently around her, and lowered it into the grave.

Suffering from a bout of lucky finds, Brian found a stick of charcoal, gently scribing "Here lies an unknown female mole, the last master of the cellars."

And with that done, they headed back upstairs into the much brighter kitchens.

Once they were gone, something appeared. A mouse in armor. If one peered close enough, they would see the outline of the forge behind him.

This mouse leaned down, picked up the chisel and traced something in the charcoal and stone. A light followed, carving "Here lies Nen the Cellarmole, the last of it's first masters."

Satisfied, he reached down into the stone, pulling somebeast up.

The mole looked at the mouse, then at the carving and covered her face in her digging claws. "Youm too kiond, Martin. Oim no marster of nuthin."

"You deserve it, friend. You truly do."

Brian sighed as he looked around the kitchens. The windows were long blown in, and he and Teddy were forced to be very careful how they stepped. Glass still lay sharp, as in the hall. Pots and pans, metal rusting red or oxidizing into a coppery green, were scattered in every place possible.

"Seems our mole-friend never used this."

Teddy dusted off a ceramic container. It was marked Honey, and the lid was glued fast.

"Didn't know honey did that..."

Sighing once more, Brian picked his way over to a broom tucked in a corner. He took it out, carefully tapping it against the floor, in case anything was inside.

Nothing. It was the best weathered object in this room he'd found. Brian began to sweep, guiding the dirt and dust and glass around him into a pile. He worked outward.

Teddy found another broom, and by copying Brian did the same. They teamed up on the rotting mess of a worktable.

"There! That's a good midmorning gone to nothing but sweeping! Let us take our brooms and see the rest of the abbey!"

Which is what they did. They sighed in relief as they entered cavern hole. It had only a tiny window near the ceiling to it's name, still intact. The furniture had aged well. In fact, all it took was a light work of the brooms to dust things off.

Great Hall was another story. It's looming windows that had inspired games for countless dibbuns were long gone, colorful shards on the ground. The columns coated in a strange slime mold. Benches in worse condition than the table, seemingly held together by fungus. The tapestry almost dust and pain and unraveled threads.

Brian stopped at the entrance, closing his eyes. He could almost hear it, the echoes of graces, chatter. Even battle plans and an unanimous roar of "To Martin!" Songs, dibbuns laughing, the tiniest ring of battle...

Brian opened his eyes, looking upward at the rafters. "I hear you."

Slowly lowering his eyes, he looked at the sword.

It had lived up to its name as the hope of Redwall. It sat in its rusted brackets, gleaming in the sun, showing little sign of desolation than dust and a frayed grip.

"A hero built Redwall," Teddy said at his elbow. "Why can't one rebirth it?"

Brian smiled. "Why indeed."

He began to gently clear a path to the tapestry. "Could you fetch the lantern, Teddy? I think we left it in the kitchens."

Teddy ran to get it.

When he came back, Brian was trimming the ancient candlewicks on the lanterns around the tapestry, which he had pushed closer to Martin.

"Thank you Teddy." From this, he lit the candles in their grime coated lanterns. He wiped off the outsides.

He then looked around. Unfortunately, it seemed that all the furniture around would fold in at the lightest touch.

Brian boosted Teddy on his shoulders, who reverently took it and the scabbard that was behind it.

"Thank you, Teddy." Brian took it, suppressing a shudder. Here he was, holding the fabulous blade that he had used to create this world. Wisdom of time seemed to hum from it.

"Perhaps there's magic to you after all."

Setting the scabbard against the wall, he gripped the handle. It was heavy, but Brian was a strong mouse, as he had been as a man. He swung it in a slow gentle arc, chuckling. "Always wanted to do this." But sighing, he stopped, gently setting the point in a thin crack in the stone. He gripped the handle with both paws. "Now then. For a rhyme..." He looked at the tapestry.

_Kind of soul_

_Strong of heart_

_Answer to my call_

Teddy watched, amazed. For ghosts had appeared. The warriors of Redwall.

Only Martin stood besides Brian, clasping the hilt. The rest laid a paw upon them or other touching them, and all faced to the south as a chant unfolded.

_And our world reborn!_

This final line ricocheted in the rafters.

Brian Jacques had returned. Never again would he abandon his world.

*.*.*

Far to the south, there was a land, once known as Southsward, ruled by a line of Squirrelkings and Queens.

At a glance, not much had changed. There was the beautiful emerald jewel of the land, forests and rivers not untouched, and yet still wild, surrounding the great castle once called Floret on it's plateau. The castle had very definitely had aged, the stones darkened from cream to a strange, beautiful shade of light brown, the red tiles having long been replaced with deep royal purple. The dark green ivy and climbing roses still dominated the walls, tendrils searching for any way possible to join those indoors.

There were fields being tended around the castle, on the slope, on the forest fringes, creatures laboring to bring in crops. Ships in the river waited, some straining at anchor lines to be off to the sea.

But look again. Peer closer.

The ships were crewed by vermin, swarming with ease over the rigging on one duty or another. View several weasels crossing the drawbridge. On the blood-red flags rising from the castle towers, there was images of a black fox head, a crown hovering over it. In all these places, the castle, ships, fields, and the stockade built off the castle in one age or another, there were slaves. Woodlanders. Squirrels, moles, otters, even badgers.

Watch them closer. These are creatures who are true slaves, never knowing of the word freedom. There is no memory or word of it, no tiny spark of hope to fester in their hearts. These creatures have no choice in their lives. They are gotten up at dawn, they assigned a job. They are given a measure of food and water and they eat all there, and work. They cannot even choose their mate, their children's names. One day, two creatures will shoved together and told they must breed. The children are named by the first vermin to see it after birth.

They don't protest, nor do they speak. This is how it has always been to them. They are creatures bound to serve the others without question, because they must. At the end of the day, when they were thrown back in the stockade, there was no chatter. They would just silently light a fire and wait until they slept their dreamless sleep.

In the fields, a young otter was digging. She was planting an apple sapling. In doing so, she found a skeleton, an otter bent into a grotesque shape, like he had fallen down, stabbed.

One would have been horrified by this, but she just blankly pulled it out, leaving it for the ratguards to deal with.

Look upon them, covered in scars from whips. Look into dull, blank eyes, hear the silence. Look into their minds, with no thoughts to think of, no memory worth reglimpsing.

Look upon these creatures, and weep.

* * *

So a question. Would you all still reading like the next chapter to be about Brian, or the former Southsward?

Answer in reviews

Critiques welcome!


	2. Chapter 1: Dreams

And then Sara realized that with that hacker troll hanging around, everyone's going to be wary of a story with only one chapter. So she rolled dice and put up the Southsward chapter.

Here's hoping Steelfang gets her account back soon.

* * *

Maggot woke to the sound of the ratguards, opening the pen.

"Up, you lazy beasts!"

The tall rat captain's harsh voice cut the air. All around creatures sat up.

Next to Maggot, an otter, slightly elderly by her gray fur, set a pup on the ground as the captain passed, as they were supposed to. He paused, using his whip handle to rock the young one slightly.

"Mudeyes," he said slowly, savoring the cruel name for the blinded infant as it slid off his tongue.

The mother nodded once. "Yes sir," she whispered, picking it back up. It began to cry slightly.

"Nurse it."

She obeyed.

"Maggot!"

She stood with a score of others.

"You all will receive your portions. Otters will report to the rivers for fishing and dockwork! Mice to the fields, squirrels to the orchards! Moles are to serve our High King Neithgen, and our Queen, Salzara! You, badger, will go to nursery! You're to dance for the Prince and Lords children and entertain them. Hedgehogs will split between the fields and the High King."

They nodded as one with a "Yes sir!"

No one was quite sure what went into the breakfast, or "portion" as it was called. It was scraps and everything the castle cooks wanted to get rid of. Usually, it was a mix of cooked bird, vegetable peels, uneaten food from the barracks, bread crumbs, molded bread, and anything else the cooks found.

But to one who had only eaten this, there was no such thing as "Bad taste" because it was they had ever eaten.

The water came from the moat, stale and murky and cold, with a constant strange aftertaste as it went down.

Maggot ate, set her dishes in the pile and joined four other otters walking to the river. More creatures joined them as they received their jobs.

By the time they'd got to the docks, there was over three score of them. They were silent, as always. One didn't speak unless an authority commanded it.

"You, waterdogs." A weasel dragged her from the line with another. "You two will search the river bottom for items. Shiny things, old items. The Princess and Queen grow bored."

They dove in the river, ragged clothes no protection against its cold. It shocked the air in her lungs, but she dove down. She had to find something.

In the mud at the bottom, she used her paws, searching through the thick silt for something.

A tailring. It was carved and painted, thought the paint was long faded. She raced for the surface. Her lungs were aching.

"Maggot got one." The weasel took it, staring at it as it glistened in the sunlight.

It was carved with a strange design, like a complicated braid.

"Keep looking. We need more, lazy."

He put it down on a large square of cloth.

She dove again.

The murky water swirled, and fished slashed and darted through. At the bottom, the biggest ones reined, ready to eat anything that moved. A catfish swirled by, almost as long as her. It left disturbed silt in it's wake, which she headed into.

Skeletons tied to a rocks. Creatures that had been drowned. She began to removed objects quickly. Tailbracelets, paw bracelets. Rings. She found metal weapon heads, which she picked up as well before she shot to the surface.

"Hoi! Maggot's found a treasure trove!"

She unloaded it on the ground.

"Look at some of this!"

"The queen will be pleased!"

"There better be more, Maggot," the weasel said, rubbing a gold band, what might have once been a wedding ring.

"Yes sir."

She took a breath, diving again.

She came up with many different items, all beautiful and artfully made, and taken off the dead.

Hours later, there was nothing left to see, and returned to searching sections of the riverbed, looking.

As she came up with an old bronze spear, the sun was setting.

"All you slaves out!"

They trudged from the water, heading to the stockade. They were given their portions by a stoat with a leer, and they ate.

There was something that might have been a cake at one point in this batch, with a rancid sweetness coming from something.

Later, those who had been serving the King and Queen came in, having finished dinner serving duty. They were given their own portions, and they all ate, turning in their bowls to the container next to the stoat.

"Hey Urgda. How'd they do?"

The stoat lugged the container with him, talking to the rat captain. "Same as usual sir. Quiet, docile. Like slaves."

"The king's calling for you. Hurry up."

"Yes sir, Brin sir."

Captain Brin snapped the whip he always carried. "Right, you good for nothing slaves! Get to bed!" He closed the gate, saying, "Really, we're too kind to you sniffling beasts. Little better than rocks that move."

There was a whispered chorus of "Yes sir"s. The guards were always right.

Lying down on one of the piles of straw, she fell asleep next to a mouse and a badger.

Slaves didn't dream. There was nothing to dream about. No hopes, no ideas, no history. The concept was unknown to them, except as fever dreams.

Maggot was staring at a building. It was built of red stone, reminding her of the castle, surrounded by a wall. Lights shone through huge windows, and she could see creatures.

She was standing on the wall.

"Hello," someone said. She waited. "It's polite to say it back."

Now she turned.

A gray otter, covered in scars, with no tail.

"My name's Mask, pup. What's yours?"

She continued staring. No otter talked. Who named him Mask? No guard would give him a name like that. It was too...She didn't know.

He sighed. "Martin was right. You're not going to talk."

"No sir."

He smiled. "At least you're not a mute."

"No sir."

This otter...It was like he was an authority. He carried with him the feel of one, and came out in his actions.

What master had let him have such loose reign?

Mask took her paw. Surprised-No one touched her, unless they brushed by- she jerked away.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Come on. Let's see something." He took it again, and they were inside the castle that she had seen, hovering above those at the tables.

She was shocked. The creatures at the tables. Not a vermin among them!

The tables were heaped with decorated cakes, and tarts, soups with the most savory scents. It competed with pies and pasties and delights she didn't know the names of.

Looking around the tables, she realized. No birds. In fact, in the rafters, a group of sparrows perched, tearing apart a cake.

"Tell me pup. What do you think of all this?"

She remained silent.

"That's an order."

"Their masters will be very angry." Her throat felt rough and she mangled the sounds he said so smoothly.

"Ah, they will, will they?"

"Yes sir."

"Why would they have masters?"

"They have to. Otherwise there's no one to rule the castle, assign them tasks. No one to name their young or give them their mates. No one to cook. Who keeps them in order?"

He chuckled quietly. "They kept themselves in order, pup. There's rules, and they learned em. If they broke em, they took it up with the abbot or abbess, like old Mother Abbess Mhera down there. They chose their own mates, named their own young. Tasks were what you saw had to be done."

"Sir."

"Hm?"

"That's not possible. We're..." she struggled to find the words. She'd never had to talk. "W-We're not meant...To have control. We're not smart enough. We...We're supposed to be slaves. That's how it's always been. That's why..."

"They chose things using their mind pup, and learned from their mistakes. They knew their mates from the love they felt for them." He seized her shoulder. "Isn't anything getting through?"

She tried to back up. "Your master will be angry."

He sighed, turning away.

Below, sounds started up above the chatter. What was it...?

A mousemaid stood, beginning something. Her voice. It was...She couldn't describe what it was doing. It wasn't like the chanting that happened at the castle. This was deeper. She talked in a way that wasn't talking, drawing out words and adding this strange depth.

"That's singing, pup. Listen."

_Let me tell you that I love you,_

_That I think about you all the time_

_Caledonia, you're calling me_

_And now I'm going home_

_And if I was to become a stranger,_

_Know that it would make me more than sad_

_Caledonia's been everything I've ever had_

It was amazing, this singing. It seemed to light up the room...

"You can make this place happen again pup," Mask spun her to look at him. "And it all starts with you waking up." He thumped a hand against his chest.

Maggot woke then. The ratguards were rousing everybody.

She felt slightly different today. Mayhapse it was a fever dream.

"Maggot!"

They stood.

"You otters and mice to the fields today!"

She received her portion. The fruit had finally started to go. There was some scattered grapes and apple chunks.

They'd had partridge, one of these last few nights...

She put her bowl in the bin, leading the line to the fields.

It was long, backbreaking work today. They had to harvest the early summer strawberries. Bending over, picking from the low, dark green bushes all day. The sun beat down mercilessly, drying dusty soil even further, evaporating the water they'd poured on the plants just this dawn, baking the forest itself. Summer had officially arrived.

At noon, the guards shepherded the field crew into the stockade, as there was no shade out there, and they wanted out of the sun.

Maggot, like the ten score of other slaves, sought scraps of shade.

In this way, she found herself settled next to him.

He was an otter, tall and young, and strong like her, maybe fifteen seasons.

His fur was pitch black.

She'd never seen him before, which was easy, because she'd never seen most of the slaves.

But now she wonder how'd she never seen him. There was something...Something about him...She couldn't describe...

And she wanted to speak.

She sorted through the words, wanting to find the right ones. "What's your name" nearly rose to her lips, but he glanced at her and her courage failed. She really was a maggot.

The gate swung open, and a rat came in, dragging a mouse, another following. She went straight for a building built right next to the castle wall. That was where the desperately sick went.

The rat dropped the male mouse inside and the other followed.

It was something the slaves did. If one of them was that sick, someone of their species cat with them until they got better or died. They didn't know why, they just did.

"Why are you lot in here?"

Silence, as expected.

"Someone had better step forward and explain, or you'll all feel a taste of my cane."

More silence. They were waiting for someone to be selected.

"Hmm...You. Deathpelt."

The black otter stared at the rat's footpaws. "The field guards."

"Oh, they did, eh?"

"Yes ma'am," they all chanted.

"We'll see about that."

A short time later, the gate opened again, and the field guards took them back out to the fields.

"You'll taste my whip for that one, Deathpelt."

"And my spear!"

They set at him, beating furiously.

She worked, picking strawberries.

For the first time, she felt something. She thought of those in her dream, and of this, and she felt something. A spark of anger.

But still. She picked.

* * *

Reviews and criticisms welcome.


	3. Chapter 2: Reb

Back to Brian!

* * *

"Do we hab to?"

A very young mouse looked up a squirrel, the obvious young leader.

"Yes," she responded, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We're inves'gatin' that sound."

"But dose ruins are creepy!"

An otter, about as old as the squirrel, picking up the mouseling. "Aye. But you're not scared, are you?"

"No!" The otter set her on his shoulders.

The three walked quiet through the woods. To an unaware watcher, they moved without purpose, but it you watched very carefully, you would notice they were following a tiny worn trail.

"But deres adders!"

"In the quarry to the north. These aren't near them."

The mouse, out of excuses, promptly became quiet.

"We'll have to be fast, Reb. Or they'll get mad."

"I know that," the squirrel shot back. Her eyes glittered madly. "You think I want to get beat?"

"Dera don'd wanna be bead!" the mouse wailed.

"SHH!"

They walked faster. One never knew what lurked in the woods of Mossflower.

It was quiet, and as the red walls loomed in the distance, the mouse had only one question. "Are dere stawberry drees?"

"Oh yeah, sure Thera."

Red suddenly stopped. "Strawberries...Plants...HERBS! We can bring back herbs! They can't be mad then! The Sisters and Mother were complaining about that!"

"And Father as well, when he received dinner last night."

"We ged herbs? Whad are herbs?"

They began to run, leaping the remains of a door, and a tree trunk that had fallen in the grounds.

Reb stopped, breathing in the air. "I can smell them. Basil, thyme...Come on."

They entered an area just full of herbs. Reb began to pick, using her skirt to hold the savior plants. "Look at this, Kad! Dock leaves! As big as my head! The medicine sister will love it!"

Kad nodded, looking at the still towering building of the ruins. "I still wonder who lived here. It's so huge."

"Probably some vermin or another. They all love fortresses. Come on. I've got enough. Let's explore!"

She untied her apron, setting the precious plant collection on it. Kad added his own, and Thera set some daisies on top of it all.

There was a doorway. It welcomed them into a large, cool room, where the shadows pooled in corners and sunlight splashed in arched shapes on the red floor. Mold and dirt was caked everywhere, with glass shining amidst the mess.

There was a path, swept through it all, leading to something hanging on a wall flanked by two rusted lanterns. They were lit, and from the looks, had been dragged closer.

Kad approached first, picking his way through the mess. Reb watched a look of disgust pass through his face as he stepped on a patch of of slime mold. The Sisters and Mother always kept the House impeccably clean, with the female youth pitching in.

"Itsa a picture of a mouse."

"Indeed it is," a deep voice said. Three pairs of eyes looked around. Only Reb and Thera could see its owner, however.

An outline of a mouse on the stairs. At first, the straight, proud stance convinced Reb and Thera it was Father, and they quivered slightly. Had they been caught?

But he stepped forward, and gray fur became apparent, as did the hat and travelers clothes. His eyes were lit from within with a merry youthful light.

"But do you know WHO he is?"

They shook their heads silently, averting their gaze to the stone he stood on.

"He was Martin the Warrior, one of the founders of this once great abbey."

Reb looked up. "A mouse built this place? By himself?"

"Oh, not by himself. He had the help of many hundreds of creatures not unlike yourselves. But he made it possible for that dream to be. And so he named a founder."

"Mardin. Dat's a nice name."

The mouse chuckled. "Indeed it is, young one. What's yours?"

"Dera!"

"Well, Dera-"

"Not Dera! Dera!"

"She means, Thera, sir. My name is Reb."

"My name is Kad."

"Kad. How do you spell it?"

"I don't know Fath-Sir."

"Hmm..." The mouse bent down, using a slim shard of glass to scratch letters into a patch of moss. "Well there's this: C-A-D. Not a name though. And then there's K-A-D. Do you mind if I call you Kade?"

Reb didn't hear the reply, she was more interested in the letters.

"You can wite!" Thera exclaimed.

"Why yes."

"Mother and Father say only certain beasts can wite."

"Well I think anyone can write. Come over here, or perhaps there, where you can see."

They moved to the anointed spots.

"My name is Brian. See? B-R-I-A-N," he scratched them into the moss. "This is R-E-B, Reb. And T-H-E-R-A."

They stared at the letters. That was their names.

"So, sir-"

"Call me Brian, young ones."

"Brian, why are you here? We're never heard of you."

"We've never heard of most beasts in Mossflower."

Reb glared.

"He has da same sword as da mouse on da pic'ure!"

He stood. "It's a tapestry. Yes, this is the same sword."

"Can you use it?"

He shook his head. "No, not at all. I'm just holding onto it, till the real bearer comes."

"But why are you inna dusty old place like this?" Reb kicked what might have been a bench once, and regretted it. Something oozed out. "Ew!"

"I'm starting to clean up. After all. The lost Abbey of Redwall needs a place to be reborn. Now I must return to sweeping out the dormitories. You're welcome to come with me, if you like. It's nice to have young ones around."

He walked up the stairs.

"If he tries anything weird, we run for it."

"Right."

They followed.

So these were the dormitories. Each room had either a molding or caving door, and inside were places for beasts of all kinds.

"This is where dibbuns slept."

Brian was in a room with many, many small beds and large window frames streaming in light and a warm breeze. Dust, glass, and a powdery gray mold competed with moss for space on the floor and walls. Rotting shutters hung from the windowframes on rusting hinges.

"Whadda dibbun?"

"A young un like yourself, Thera."

"Oh." She stumbled over part of a bed to him, where he was sweeping the floor. "Why are you cleaning?"

"What do you mean?"

"Dat's a maid job."

"If that was true, I'd have been out of luck this morning. Well, could you all gather together the bed sheets? The ones that aren't salvageable."

They did so, working in silence, while Brian hummed.

"Oi Brian! Look what I found! The squirrel statue!" A short white-furred creature waved something."Well. Who're all you young uns then?"

"This is Reb, Thera and Kade, Teddy."

"Well, nice to meet cha! Brian! I found the statue! Still being used as a doorstop!"

Brian took it, gently scraping moss away from the neck of a statue of a squirrel. Then he nodded thoughtfully, took it in both paws and twisted.

The head came off. Reb gasped.

"I think there's even something inside! Well isn't that handy." He fished out something covered in beeswax. "And they preserved it. My my. Well then! What say we take a break?"

Thera waved a paw. "Me! Me me me! Oops!" She quieted. "I mean, I'd wike do."

Brian nodded, carefully peeling the wax from the paper scroll.

"We are leaving this abbey," he began to read. "In the past, it was capable of defense, but no more. Vermin march from the south, having taken the lands there, and Martin warns us to leave. We stand now, at the brink, the disbanding of a legend. Who knows what awaits us without our home to fall back on... I hope with all my heart that Redwall will one day be again."

He nodded sadly.

"The world itself feels darker, though it is high summer. I look around this abbey, and I see my entire life. One that will soon be over."

"Mira, last recorder of Redwall Abbey, Summer of the Fall."

Reb stared at the parchment. So this abbey had been abandoned because they thought they couldn't defend it? Why was it Summer of the Fall? What had fallen?

"We have to go back! They'll be mad!"

It was afternoon already?

"I'll take you back, young ones. I'll say you were helping me." Brian walked calmly down the stairs, and they trailed after. He set the sword behind a pillar as they passed the large entrance.

Reb gathered up the herbs, and they began the long walk to the House.

It was a large place, built into a cliff. Run by the Mother and Father, kept by the Sisters and Brothers, and succeeded by the youth they took in.

"Rebecca! Kadathen! Thera! Where have you been! And coming back all dirty too! You will feel my stick for this, young ones! Up to the baths, then to bed with you!" Sister Abbel chided them, taking the herbs from Reb.

"You'll have to forgive them, marm. They were helping me. I did not know they were to be home. They were gathering herbs when I found them, having lost an object very dear to me."

Sister Abbel looked Brian up and down. "And they helped you find it, did they?"

"Indeed they did, marm." Reb saw Brian's paws tense behind his back, though he showed no other sign of anger or otherwise.

"Well then. Take a bath, all three of you. But you'll have to make up for missed work! You were to have cleaned those floors, Rebecca! And you, Kadathen, missed much gardening."

She looked at Brian as they trudged away. "Will you join us for tea?"

Brian gazed quietly at three small backs scooting behind a door. "I believe I shall, ma'rm. If it's not too much trouble."

* * *

The "Mother" "Sisters" and other such characters are based off of classic nuns. Yeah. Rulers all round, for the misbehaving.


End file.
